


Five times Kain Fuery declined a cigarette and one time he asked for one

by Dredfulhapiness



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types, Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: 5+1 Things, Cigarettes, Gen, is it a metaphor? Who knows at this point, mentions of Maes Hughes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-03
Updated: 2020-10-03
Packaged: 2021-03-08 03:09:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,888
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26798611
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dredfulhapiness/pseuds/Dredfulhapiness
Summary: The new guy isn’t gonna last long.He’s just a kid, fresh out of the academy, and he says things like “please” and “thank you,” and he hasn’t said a single curse word all day.Havoc watches him hunch over himself at his desk, one hand holding his headset in place, and leans over to Breda.“Two weeks?” He suggests around a puff of smoke.
Relationships: Kain Fuery & Jean Havoc
Comments: 12
Kudos: 37





	Five times Kain Fuery declined a cigarette and one time he asked for one

1.

The new guy isn’t gonna last long.

He’s just a kid, fresh out of the academy, and he says things like “please” and “thank you,” and he hasn’t said a single curse word all day.

Havoc watches him hunch over himself at his desk, one hand holding his headset in place, and leans over to Breda.

“Two weeks?” He suggests around a puff of smoke.

“That’s generous.”

Havoc raises an eyebrow. “You think less?”

“Week and a half.”

“Ouch.”

“You know how the boss can get.”

Havoc hums. He does.

“I wouldn’t put too much money on it.” Hawkeye’s voice makes them jump. Jesus, she’s like a cat sometimes, so light on her feet.

Havoc whirls around to see her arm resting on the back of her chair, head craned to talk to them.

“Oh, yeah? Why’s that?”

“The Colonel requested him.” She’s looking past him, and he follows her gaze to where Fuery is nodding along to something Falman is telling him. Behind his inch-thick glasses, his eyes are wide and attentive.

“Well, shit,” Havoc says. “What’s so great about him?”

“Probably that he does his work,” Hawkeye muses. Invisible to the untrained eye is the way the corner of her lips arch up.

“Hint taken,” Breda mutters.

They go back to their jobs.

—

He runs into him on their way out. Fuery’s got a bag tucked under his arm, his glasses are sliding down his nose. When he sees Havoc his face lights up, like a puppy. 

“Lieutenant!”

Havoc shakes his head, but doesn’t correct him. Just fishes the cigarette holder out of his pocket. “Good first day?”

“Yeah— Yeah, you guys seem great.” He rubs at the back of his neck as Havoc packs down the tobacco.

“Want one?” He holds it out, but Fuery shakes his head.

“I don’t smoke,” he says, like a teen turning down drugs at some basement party. He’s a boy scout, really. Havoc just shakes and brings the cigarette to his lips.

“So what’s your deal?” Havoc asks, as nonchalant as he can manage when he wants to ask, _what’s so great about you?_

Fuery blinks at him. “Sorry?”

“Most people don’t join the military because they’re bored.”

_“Right,”_ He says, like a revelation. Fuery pushes his glasses up. “Well, what do you want to hear?”

“What?”

“I mean, that’s all you want, right? A good story?”

He says it so casually, so off-handed, with a dismissive flick of his wrist. He’s listing a fact, like, Central is 22.8 square miles.

Havoc squints at him. _Well,_ he thinks, _Yeah._

“Just a straight answer.”

“No job my mom or my sisters get will pay them well enough to live. I had to step up.”

Havoc nods. He’s heard this song before, quite a few times.

(Then again, that was during a war.)

“You should have gone to trade school.”

Fuery looks at him and his eyes sparkle. He nods, laughs with his mouth closed.

“Maybe,” He agrees. “But I’m here now.”

“That you are.”

That he is.

2.

The trek back to the office is quiet. Besides the usual, portioned weekend staff, there’s no one in the wide halls of Central headquarters. Havoc’s footsteps echo, the sound bounces around.

He pauses. The door to the office is ajar. He opens it a little further.

There’s a silhouette in the window. It’s standing, hands braced against the window sill, staring out into the warm-toned sunset. It’s still.

Havoc’s shoe squeaks, and the silhouette turns around.

“Hey,” Fuery says hoarsely. “What are you doing here?”

Havoc makes his way over to his desk, digs around in a drawer. He holds the box of cigarettes up between his fore and middle finger. “Forgot to grab ‘em. You?”

Fuery looks at him and contemplates. The dying sun deepens the shadows on his face.

“I don’t feel like sitting in an empty apartment.”

“That’s what bars are for.”

“Sulking in public isn’t really my thing.”

“Yeah,” Havoc mumbles around a cigarette. “Mine either.”

He holds the box out, and Fuery just shakes his head. He throws them in his pocket, opens another drawer, pulls out a bottle.

“You drink at least?”

Fuery looks around, glances at the open door. “Are we allowed?”

“Our friend is dead. Exceptions can be made.”

Kain sighs, deflates. He sinks down into the chair across from Havoc. He takes his glasses off and massages the bridge of his nose.

“I can’t figure it out,” He says as Havoc pours him a glass. “I mean, why Hughes?”

Havoc scoffs. “Wrong place, wrong time.” There is a very, very large lump in his throat.

Fuery looks about as convinced as Havoc sounds. Havoc throws back his drink, grimaces. “We’ll figure it out.” He pauses. “That’s one thing I know about the Colonel— he’ll figure it out.”

3.

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” Havoc says when Fuery shoulders his way into the room.

(He does. His face is gaunt, his eyes are wide, his hair is unkempt, like he’s been running his fingers through it. There’s something else about him, too, though. Something Havoc hasn’t seen. There’s a fire about him, hands in his pockets and hard footsteps.)

“I was just talking to Brosch,” Fuery says without turning to look at him. “He’s, uh. He’s—“ He swallows. “He’s not taking it well.”

“Why would he?”

“You are,” Fuery says, cold. “So are the rest of you.”

“We saved a life,” Havoc corrects.

“It’s a fucked up way to go about it.”

Havoc winces. Somewhere, in the back of his mind, an alarm goes off celebrating hearing Fuery say a no-no word. The joy is short-lived.

Havoc sighs. He’s going to have to be the adult here, isn’t he?

“Sit down,” He says, because Fuery is still staring at the coat rack, tugging at the hem of his jacket uselessly. Trying to look busy.

“And the Elrics, by the way— Ed’s a mess.”

“Sit down.”

“I mean, that poor kid’s gone through so much already—“

“Fuery, sit down.”

He does, after hitting Havoc with a painfully measured look. Havoc slides a box of cigarettes and a lighter across the desk to him.

“Smoke and calm down.”

Fuery pokes at the box. “I don’t—“

“Smoke, I know. Now will you listen to me?”

It isn’t often Havoc pulls out his boss voice. Fuery’s jaw tenses.

“Brosch can’t keep a secret. We don’t tell him about surprise parties, we definitely don’t tell him Maria Ross isn’t dead. Not, at least, unless we actually want her to be. And you, and me, and Hawkeye, and the Colonel, and Brosch himself.”

Fuery presses his lips together. “And the Elrics? Is there a reason we’re letting them think the Colonel burned her so bad she was unidentifiable?”

“They’re good kids, Kain.” The silence is heavy. Fuery’s gaze is fixed on a point justpast Havoc’s head. “You tell them, you’re telling Brosch. And if they know, they’re in danger. We don’t know what this is, we don’t know how deep it goes. All we know is that Hughes died trying to tell us something, and we’re trying to keep that from happening again. It’s all connected.”

“We’re keeping them safe,” Fuery echoes, not unconvinced.

“Now listen to me very, very carefully.” Havoc leans forward, the bottom of his ribs brushing against the desk. “This is only going to get worse.” Fuery opens his mouth, but Havoc silences him with a wave of his hand. “You want out? I’ll get you out.”

Fuery closes his eyes, shakes his head. “No,” He croaks.

“Then keep trusting us,” Havoc says, with more confidence than he deserves.

4.

Havoc calls out to him from across the courtyard, “Fuery, my man!”

Hayate turns before Kain, ears perked up and nose set in the air. Fuery looks over his shoulder, lips set in a lopsided smile. He catches Havoc’s eye, and the smile widens. “You’re in a good mood.”

“That, my friend, is because I have a date.”

“With a human woman,” Breda specifies. “Isn’t it miraculous?”

“Congrats, sir.”

“Join us for a celebratory smoke?” Falman offers. He raises his hand like he’s proposing a toast.

Fuery shakes his head and he’s met with jeers.

“I’ve got to get Hayate back to Lieutenant Hawkeye.”

“He’s always got an excuse,” Havoc says. Fuery’s so respectful he turns his head away when he rolls his eyes.

“You bringing flowers?” Fuery asks instead of taking the bait.

“He’s got to cover up his B.O. somehow,” Breda says, and just narrowly dodges Havoc’s elbow.

“Good luck, then,” Fuery says.

Hayate tugs on his leash, pulls Fuery’s arm taut. He takes his leave.

5.

Fuery is the nicest of them all, so the first words out of his mouth when he sees Havoc are, “How are you feeling?”

He hovers awkwardly in the doorway, one hand shoved deep into his pockets. The lines on his forehead are deep and meandering.

“Like a lady with huge jugs severed my spine.”

“Objectify women, pay the price.” He says it so fast, and his face morphs into horror at his own words.

Havoc laughs at that— actually laughs, from his stomach, and some of the concern that was plastered onto Fuery’s face cracks. 

“I should have known she was out of my league,” Havoc says. “That one’s on me.”

Fuery doesn’t even smile.

Baby steps, Havoc thinks.

“I, uh—“ Fuery steps further into the room. “I got you something.”

He pulls the cigarettes out of his pockets the way you would a stolen piece of jewelry, or a bomb about to detonate.

“You smuggle these in? For me?” Havoc shoots him puppy dog eyes.

“Falman said they weren’t letting you smoke. You didn’t get them from me.”

Havoc does jazz hands. “They appeared out of thin air.” He pulls one from the pack. “Want to reap the fruits of your labor?”

He shakes his head. “They’re all yours.”

+1

Kain trudges through the dismantled city and is overwhelmed by how heavy his eyelids are. Gunpowder is smeared on his hands, dirt is caked onto his clothes, there’s a cut just above his ear trickling blood down his neck.

He pushes into the store and collapses onto a stool. He doubles over onto the counter, buries his head in his elbow.

“How bad is it?” Havoc asks.

“Almost everyone’s in the hospital.”

“Is Roy—”

“He’s stable. Our friends, they’re all…” There’s a pounding behind Kain’s temples.

“Should you be in the hospital?”

Kain shakes his head.

They sit there, listening to the muffled sounds of life going on outside the store, to concrete dragging on concrete, and emergency teams yelling.

“Want a drink?” Havoc asks just as Kain’s about to break the silence.

Fuery looks up, his glasses pushed up onto his head, blinking to bring Havoc back into focus. “Actually, can I… Can I bum a cigarette?”

Havoc throws his head back and laughs, giddy. “Hang on,” he says, “I’ve got to savor this.”

“You’re such an asshole.”

Havoc hands the cigarette over with a grin that would make a dung beetle blanch. Fuery pointedly ignores him as he lights it.

He brings it up to his lips, takes a deep breath in, and coughs. Havoc only laughs harder, doubles over in his wheelchair, one gripping his stomach.

**Author's Note:**

> HAPPY FMA DAY!!!! Anyway, come talk to me about FMA on Tumblr [@dredfulhapiness](%E2%80%9C)


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